


Dancing Around the Issue

by Kimochiru



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Mostly Canon Compliant, Open to Interpretation, Other, THERE'S ONLY ONE BED IN THE BUNKER, a lot of things technically canon but not mentioned are basically up for the reader to interpret, idk I hope I established that these two have requited feelings, it's not Christmas-y but owell, lowkey angst, mutual affection, spiritual relationship, the narrator almost talks to you but not quite, they just aren't acting upon it physically/in reality, unsatisfying ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimochiru/pseuds/Kimochiru
Summary: It wasn't that they didn't know it. In fact, it was something Stanford and Fiddleford knew far too well of. But however mutual this feeling may be, it certainly wasn't something they wanted to discuss. Not in a grounded sense, anyways.However, one incident forces them to share a night of unsuppressed closeness.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NinetyWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinetyWrites/gifts).



> This fic is somewhat of a Christmas gift to NinetyWrites, who is a _splendid_ author and person. I highly urge you to read his works!  
>  "There's only one bed in the bunker" is basically Ninety's catchphrase, so I thought I ought to write some FiddAuthor revolving that theme. So, this work is also essentially dedicated to him!
> 
> And so, our kind-of angst fic begins.

The bunker was almost complete.

 

Well, more specifically, the bunker was _already_ completed by Stanford’s standards, but not Fiddleford’s.

“It needs an extra layer of security, just in case!”

“I think our well-hidden tree switch and lockpads are secure enough, Fiddleford.”

“But what if the Hide Behind comes back? We wouldn’t even see it follow us! Or what if a- a kind of spider monster manages to climb the tree and break in through the locks?” A flurry of “what-if”s tumbled out of Fiddleford’s brainstorming mind.

Honestly, he was starting to go off on a tangent (“It’s goin’ ta need a death ray in the event of an emergency!”).

Despite this, Ford was rather amused as he listened to his friend’s ideas. They were perhaps (exceedingly) unlikely, but Ford couldn’t help but feel energized whenever Fiddleford presented panoplies of possibilities. They allowed for his mind to expand and consider new factors Ford would never have thought about, which allowed him to discover even better conclusions. In this case, Stanford realized that, though there will (definitely) not be any spider monsters, a government agent might try to break in, and given _their_ technological capabilities, some extra safety precautions would be a good idea. Ford planned on keeping some artifacts from CSO, and he was _not_ looking for a run-in with the feds.

Smiling ever-so-slightly, Ford said, “All right, Fidds. What do you have in mind?”

Fiddleford was half-way into a theory until he noticed Ford’s once-firm expression shift into one of curiousity, open and listening. Brightening at his willingness to hear his ideas, Fiddleford jumped right into describing his designs.

“Alright, so I was thinkin’ about some advanced keypad with all them buttons, and instead of numbers there’ll be symbols,” dropping his voice to a whisper, Fiddleford added, “It’ll add a mysterious effect! Plus, it might befuzzle someone, and then they’ll give up.” He then continued speaking with his usual enthusiasm, “Not only that, you’d have to press the correct combination of buttons at the same time, or else it won’t open! That way-”

Realizing the effects of Fiddleford’s concept, Ford completed the sentence, “That way if someone wants to break in, the typical method of single-digit input wouldn’t work. Of course, that’s excellent!” Pausing thoughtfully, Ford added, “If the code is comprised of _symbols_ instead of numbers, then whoever is trying to break in would likely waste time ‘decoding’ them.”

“See, I told ya it’s a great idea,” said Fiddleford, playfully nudging his companion, grinning with a knowing satisfaction.

Ford smiled, returning the gesture, “I never doubted your creativity.”

Hesitantly, knowing he was crossing a fine, fine line, Ford lifted his arm, moving it behind Fiddleford. With a delicate touch, his hand lightly lay on his friend’s shoulder. Smile becoming shy, Ford said, with a quiet earnesty, “I could not imagine achieving this much in the project without your brilliance. Thank you, Fidds.”

Fiddleford beamed at the compliment, and he wore a softer, more sincere expression. Relaxing, Ford’s hand rested more firmly on his partner’s shoulder. And then, their gazes met. Surroundings blurred like fragments of a faded dream, and they were drawn to the other, lost together in a starstruck sky. They would have remained like that, sharing tender looks and being enveloped in the serenity of this shared moment.

However, curtly spoken words and suddenly diverting eyes brought back the earth.

“We should get started.”

“Right, which materials do you need?”

Fiddleford replied, “I reckon I’ll be needing lots of wires.”

 

* * *

 

They both had barely managed to escape the entire security room Fiddleford had somehow built over the course of just a few days. Eager to showcase his innovation to Ford, he purposely activated a trap, and without warning, the walls started to close in on the two of them. By then, Ford had realized this “security keypad” was, in fact, an adventure temple-esque trap in which failing to press the right buttons would prove fatal. They both immediately got to the task, frantically dashing towards the stones that had the correct symbol and sometimes shouting in frustration at look-alikes. It was thanks to Fiddleford’s quick thinking (and messenger bag throwing skills) that they were able to press the third button and then escape through the unlocked door on time.

 

Stanford, who lay on the ground with him, panted, barely managing to splutter in between breaths, “Fiddleford, by ‘lots of wires’… you didn’t tell me that you meant to… to build an _entire room of death traps_!” He flung his arms in the air to punctuate the last phrase.

“H-hey, it’s _not_ a death room! It’s exactly how I described: an advanced keypad! Just not in the traditional sense.”

“Still, I cannot believe you don’t think it’s too excessive,” he groaned. His arms dropped to the ground in defeat with a dull thud.

“You could consider it some sort of revenge for not warning me that visiting CSO was actually a _three day hike,_ ” Fiddleford sat up and crossed his own as he spoke of the trip.

“At least a hike can’t _kill_ you!” protested Ford, as he too heaved his body off the ground. He paused for a moment to settle into his new position. Then, playfulness overtaking all signs of exhaustion, Ford added, “Besides, you seemed to enjoy yourself out there, crashing stones together to ignite a lantern and _drinking raw, alien cow milk._ ”

“I wanted to know what it tasted like. I grew up on a farm, Ford. Can you really blame me?” Fiddleford retorted, but there was a good-humored spark in Fidds that, to Ford, seemed to ignite his high spirits further.

“I think all _sensible_ people know very well that you don’t consume unknown substances, farmer or not,” Ford smiled, “But, I think I’d rather you a quirky mad scientist than a stick-in-the-mud!”

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Fiddleford scooted closer towards his friend, as if the need to do... exceeded those of that barrier they were both too aware of. Ford let him.

Now on one knee, Fiddleford had his hand held out in extension, offering his companion a lift off the ground.

Ford stared at the hand outstretched towards him, his own hovering in front of his face prudently. And then, breaking the confines, he eagerly took it. Ford’s other hand’s fingers were loosely curled inwards, lingering almost expectantly. However, now unhindered, he took hold of Fiddleford’s other arm, and his soft grip gently held his wrist. Their fingers weaved and then laced and intertwined together as the pair stood up, facing each other, raising further away from the dusty ground.

Maybe something would have been said in that moment. What has long been ignored, but needed acknowledgement, could have been addressed. And yet... and yet, someone had taken a misstep, causing the both of Ford and Fiddleford to fall back onto the ground. It was another attempt (of sorts) gone awry.

Awkwardly rubbing the back of his head, Ford said, “I should finalise the furnishing in the actual ‘bunker’ part of our bunker.”

“Hm, you do that. I ought to be going out to town,” Fiddleford stated simply.

 

“See you soon, then?” said Ford, his gaze softening once more.

They may as well be in an actual embrace, as the warmth of the other’s short goodbyes enveloped them in comfort and essentially, the quintessence of affection.

Smiling sincerely, Fiddleford replied, “Yeah, see ya soon.”

 

* * *

 

Ford froze at the question.

It was too much to ask. In fact, the course of events this week had been _way_ too much! If only he hadn’t gotten too excited over the bunker project with Fiddleford. If only he hadn’t started gushing to Fiddleford about Fiddleford. If only he hadn’t let his feeling for Fi- _his feelings_ get the better of him! Whatever they had been rallying around, whether it was outright dismissal or getting too close for comfort to the subject, was always avoided. _And now?_

 

“Ford do ya hear me? I want to see what it’s like sleeping down there as well,” Fiddleford stated, some exasperation lacing his tone. True, it _had_ been such a strange week, putting that already-fine line they had tried to navigate on under such strain, but surely there wasn’t anything wrong with..?

“Um, sure, Fidds...” Stanford turned around to face him, “Sorry that I, ah, didn’t hear you the first time.”

Fiddleford only shrugged in response and grinned with light cheer, “Well then, let’s get going!”

“Now?” Ford exclaimed, “I mean, if you insist…”

This earned him a quizzical look from Fiddleford, who quirked an eyebrow.

 

Upon arriving at the bunker (a somewhat delayed journey, as Ford asked his companion to look at this flower in the woods, or to stop at that place to rest), the travelling pair stopped abruptly at the sight of what was in it.

Ford folded his hands behind him as he stole a nervous glance at his friend.

Fiddleford was bouncing his knees in trepidation (about 2 BPS, Ford noted grimly). Figuring he should say something, maybe an apology, opened his mouth to speak, but then-

“There’s only one bed,” Fiddleford muttered, taking deep breaths to calm his pulsing mind and body.

Ford looked away.

A sigh, then a light palm to the face. “ _There’s only one bed in the bunker,_ ” he repeated. “Stanford, you had _one_ job, and that was to get _two_ beds.”

“I’m sorry,” this time he dared to meet his eye, “I just-”

Fiddleford shook his head, “I guess it can’t be helped, I might’ve done the same.” He then forced a smile, “Y’know, I’m actually wonderin’ what it’ll be like sleeping on the ground of this cave. I reckon it’s going to be quite an experience!”

“A-are you sure you want to sleep down there alone? Fidds...” Ford trailed off.

He had wanted to say, “Please stay up here with me, Fidds. I’d rather not be alone,” or perhaps even, “Maybe I’ll join you, and we can experience it together.” Most of all, underlying in all of his thoughts, there was an unspoken, “I want to stay beside you.”

However, none of that was said. Instead, Ford simply remarked, “The ground looks rather unkempt.”

The innuendo of Ford’s words did not escape Fiddleford’s notice. He was asking for what they both wanted, yet it was something they always evaded. But just this once, maybe they could stop dancing around the issue, so he nodded knowingly to Ford, who gave an abashed smile in return.

The pair lifted themselves off the ground to climb into the bed together. At first, the unfamiliar dynamic left them awkwardly trying to make room for the other. They only had experienced truly close contact of this nature in such brusqueness, after all. But they did speak to each other in soft murmurs, the words exchanged freely and naturally. Eventually, the space between them diminished. It was a rare event in which they intentionally did so.

This wasn’t going to be time so lavishly spent, so Fiddleford brought Ford into a hug, who returned the gesture right away. They held the position as the wrap of warmth from each other lulled them into a deep sleep. For once, heart and manifestation intertwined into a whole.

It would perhaps be in a former time and state of mind that the matter would fully be addressed. But for now, spending one night on the one bed in the bunker together would be enough to content them into a precious moment of satisfaction.


End file.
